Muggy.

Up early to talk to men in dark suits about 'serious' things. You know things are serious because it's midnight in New York and they're all in the office. Bob wanders into see me and puts a sleepy head on my knee. He looks up with his '' shall we go for a walk ? " look. Trust a dog to know what's really important. 

With the heat comes the humidity. Bob and Sophie are not impressed with the mugginess. At least the terrace, with its cool stone floors, is finally ready for them to doze on. The pilgrims also seem to dislike the humidity. Last week there were scores of them wandering by every day. Now there's not even a solitary figure for the PONs to greet.

To the garden store. They have a new delivery of Anduze pots. We want to order four for lime trees on the terrace. This being France the garden centre considers the idea of delivering them to be quite outlandish if not insulting. '' Oh no monsieur that would certainly not be possible ! ". Bob eyes up the pots but is hurried into the back of the car before he can practise his christening skills.

Just another summer Monday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde.